It all started yesterday, when our corporate travel agent insisted that I do have a four-digit PIN for my United Mileage Plus account. And I insisted that I no longer had it, nor remembered it, nor could find it. But she insisted she needed it NOW, so she could book me a seat that might remotely qualify for an upgrade on my upcoming overseas flight. So I phoned home, to ask Bill to look in the safe, to see if there was anything from United-Continental stashed with my passport. And then I jumped in my car and drove home really fast, to check several drawers full of important documents, like seven-year-old Christmas cards and yellowing recipe clippings.
My United PIN was not anywhere. And I was frantic. (Really? You’re going to Italy. In the springtime. Calm yourself.)
Bill said there wasn’t anything PIN-related in the safe with our passports.
In my altered state, I decided he didn’t know what he was looking for. And l’ve known him to ask if I’ve seen his glasses, when they’re on his head. So I decided to check the safe myself.
But the safe handle didn’t budge. So I spun the combination lock, and turned its cute little key. Nothing.
“Bill!” I hollered downstairs. “The safe won’t open!”
“Well, it opened five minutes ago for me.” Pause. “You didn’t spin the combination lock, did you?”
Longer pause.
“Maybe.”
Well, I’m here to tell you that the next few minutes were not the most fun ones of my life. Because guess what? Nobody (Bill) had ever set the combination for the safe (in the five years we’ve owned it). And guess where the instructions for the safe were? (Inside.) (With my passport.)
Yes, this is what it looks like, when you open a home safe with a crow bar, chisel, axe, and sledgehammer. Because that’s what the professional safe-cracker told Bill to use.
And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if my recovered passport reads “Luuuucy.”
ginnygram 